


Bathing Together

by Notenoughforgenius



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Fluff, M/M, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:38:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notenoughforgenius/pseuds/Notenoughforgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a hard case... maybe a bath is in order?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathing Together

“Well,” John said, leaning against the door to 221B, “that was…”  
“I would say invigorating.” Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his breathing. Slender fingers slipped into his pocket, and traced circles in the rich fabric until they found the keys to the door.   
“I’d say exhausting. Only you could find something “invigorating’ in getting shot at,” John mocked Sherlock, encircling the word in quotes with his finger.  
Sherlock didn’t engage John with a response; instead he walked to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Two cups of tea were in order, a strong cup of Earl Grey for Sherlock, and a gentler cup of chamomile for John. The two sat in the kitchen for a while, John sitting in a chair, Sherlock stretching his long body against the counter, feet in front of him, and head against the cabinet. There was nothing much to say, just the gentle relaxation that followed a strenuous case. This was John’s favorite part of a case. Sherlock lived for the thrill, the drive to find the who, the what, the how, was what kept him engaged. John swallowed the strain for the calm after the storm, to breathe and relax, revel in London fog and know that the job was well done. Sherlock caught John looking at him, and gave him a quizzical expression. John began to laugh, “God you’re a mess.”  
This was true. The days’ work was a collection of sewers, trash heaps, and excursions with the usual homeless network. The two men were splattered with anything and everything: from the harmless dirty water on the hem of John’s pants, to the blue-hued chemicals on Sherlock’s fingertips.   
“You’re one to talk,” the detective laughed, giving off his rare throaty giggle. Since their first case, John had noticed more and more of his manner of speaking slipping quietly into Sherlock’s vocabulary. These little phases never failed to please John, although he would never admit it.   
“Maybe a bath?” John suggested, his heart jumping slightly as the words left his mouth. It was not the first time (nor would it be the last, for that matter) that the two bathed together after a long day. It was never anything more than a bath or shower, per Sherlock’s desire, but both men enjoyed it equally. Sherlock set down his cup and led John up the stairs, his first two fingers wrapping around John’s index finger, a silent yes.  
The bathroom at 221B was what you would expect it to be, old tile kept spotless by Mrs. Hudson, one sink, a toilet, and a shower connected to a tub against a wall with one small window opening east to the London sky. It was immediately noticeable that two people shared the room. Although spotless where John kept his belongings organized in typical military fashion, Sherlock’s expensive soaps and colognes were scattered in the strangest places; from the sink and shower to behind the toilet. He claimed there to be a method to the madness; however, John knew that he simply didn’t care as long as he could find his things.   
John closed the door behind him, merely a formality against intrusion. Mrs. Hudson entered their flat only after knocking (there was an incident involving Sherlock and a study on the human body she’d rather not repeat) and she knew the relationship was slightly more than platonic. Still, John felt too exposed for his liking with an open door. When he turned, Sherlock’s shirt was off, and he was bending over the tub. Always demanding and unnecessarily needy, the water temperature had to be just right for him to get in. John admired him from the doorway, his pale, lightly freckled skin in stark contrast with his black dress pants. John stripped himself, and stepped towards the tub himself. The first time they had done this, he had been tentative; shy even, afraid that what he had to offer wouldn’t hold to Sherlock’s ever high standards. He had to remind himself that he had braved bullets in Afghanistan; he could take his shirt off in front of his closest friend. Ever since then, he had grown more and more comfortable, now it was just routine.   
Sherlock had finished filling the tub, so he undressed completely, and slipped into the tub.  
“Joining me?” Sherlock questioned.  
John took off his jeans and boxers, and slipped into the bath, resting his body between Sherlock’s legs.   
“Long day, huh?” John remarked.  
“Shhh… later.” Sherlock took down his body wash, a luxurious mixture scented like apples and cinnamon. He squirted some on a sponge, and began to rub John’s back. John satisfied with being quite, so he lay back against Sherlock’s chest, allowing the warm water and his friend’s arms to lull him asleep.


End file.
